IQ(23)

Isaiah watched the tape, trying to wrap his head around what he was seeing. Someone sent a dog to kill Cal? Someone used a dog like an assassin. Who would do that?

On the tape, Cal had made it to the edge of the pool, the woman next door yelling nonstop. The dog was in a panic, paddling furiously to get out of the pool.

“What’s the dog gonna do now?” Dodson said. “How’s he gonna get out?”

Isaiah focused on the trees at the back of the property. The man would come from there, nowhere else he could be. And then he appeared. He was wearing a ski mask, cargo shorts, a T-shirt that said THE WHITE STRIPES, and big rubber shoes like clogs.

“Who’s that?” Dodson said.

“Exactly,” Anthony said.

The man jogged across the lawn. Isaiah had him in his late twenties, five-ten or eleven, a hundred and sixty-five pounds, in good shape. He had an awkward up-and-down gait, his arms going back and forth like a speed-walker. The woman leaned over the railing to yell, as if she wasn’t being loud enough. He ignored her and drew a handgun with a long barrel. She screamed and fled inside. The man got to the pool and saw Cal way down at the end just as the flashing lights of a police car flickered red against the house next door. The cops were in the cul-de-sac. The man thought a moment, put the gun away, and said something to the dog. Then he walked alongside the pool, leading the dog to the shallow end. He jumped into the waist-deep water, grabbed the dog under its hindquarters, and lifted-shoved it over the edge of the pool and onto the cement. The man got out and the two of them trotted back into the trees.

Moments later, the police came around the side of the house with their guns drawn. Cal shouted at them, waved—and sank. The action was over but Charles and Bug were still watching the tape like this was the good part, chuckling and nudging each other.

“How a nigga gonna have a pool and can’t swim?” Charles said.

“I bet he don’t leave dry land for the rest of his life,” Bug said.

“You two niggas see something funny?” Cal said, freezing their shit. The cat was looking at them as if to say You unemployable muthaf*ckas are in trouble now. “’Cause what I see is your meal ticket almost drowned to death,” Cal said. “Oh there’s gonna be some housecleanin’ around here, y’all can believe that.”


The fellas got up and started moving around. Isaiah kept staring at the screen, trying to process what he’d seen.

“Cal, do you want to tell Isaiah about the situation?” Anthony said, nodding instead of saying can we get on with it.

“Situation?” Cal said. “What situa—oh yeah, right, right, yeah, Mr. Q is here.”

Dodson bit Isaiah’s tongue off with a look. “How can we help you, Cal?” he said.

“You can help me by putting that evil bitch Noelle in jail,” Cal said. “Get some video or some fingerprints or some DNA. You know, police-type shit, get her locked up where she belongs. Let her do her diva thing with them women got the short hair, no makeup, and mop handles.”

“Cal thinks his ex-wife is behind the dog attack,” Anthony said, giving Isaiah a look.

“I don’t think she’s behind the attack,” Cal said. “She is behind it, ain’t no doubt about it. Who else would want to kill me with a goddamn dog? Only an evil bitch would think that shit up. I might wake up tomorrow morning with a dinosaur after my ass.”

“I’d like to talk to you privately, Cal,” Isaiah said.

“You need to know something, ask Anthony,” Cal said, moving for the door. “That’s what I pay him for. I’m gonna take a nap, y’all niggas leave me be.”

“What about the album?” Charles said.

“Fuck the album and f*ck you for bringing it up, Charles.”

“Aw, come on, Cal, we got work to do,” Bug said.

“You mean I got work to do. You muthaf*ckas ain’t got shit to do. Nail her ass to the wall for me, Mr. Q. Did Anthony tell you about the bonus?” Cal shuffled out of the room, the tension easing like someone had turned off a smoke detector.

“Really, Isaiah,” Anthony said, “I know this must seem ridiculous to you. If you don’t want to take the case it’s okay. We’ll pay you for your time.”

“Don’t let him off the hook,” Charles said. “Nigga’s supposed to know something.”

“Yeah, IQ,” Bug said, “what you got to say?”

“How did the man on the video direct the dog to the doggie door?” Isaiah said, talking to himself.

“He told it to,” Charles said.

“You mean he was shouting all that time? He’d have to when the dog was on the other side of the pool and for all he knew Cal might have heard him. No, he did something else.”

“Like what?” Charles said. “Send it a text?”

Isaiah meandered over to the pool table, picked up the nine ball, and let it slow-roll out of his hand.

“I told you this wasn’t gonna be shit,” Charles said.

“This will go a lot faster if you let the man think,” Anthony said.

“Thank you, Anthony,” Dodson said. “Isaiah cogitates best when there are no distractions.”

“What’s he need to cogitate for?” Charles said. “He saw what we saw.”